


i'm sorry that i couldn't get to you

by sirensongs (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 05:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1334167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sirensongs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I can’t face myself in the mirror. Strands of red blur my vision in a mix of tears and regret, the words I left weren’t enough. All I wanted was to save her. All I wanted was to see her smile again, to feel her arms around me and to feel my best friend’s hug. I should have known, should have realized she was too good of a friend— too good of a person—not to come looking. She wanted to save me and I couldn’t even save her.</p>
<p>--</p>
<p>lydia mourning allison :(</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm sorry that i couldn't get to you

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Lauren who came up with the idea and said "write this!". I, personally, like it so I hope you guys do, too!

I can’t face myself in the mirror. Strands of red blur my vision in a mix of tears and regret, the words I left weren’t enough. All I wanted was to save her. All I wanted was to see her smile again, to feel her arms around me and to feel my best friend’s hug. I should have known, should have realized she was too good of a friend— too good of a person—not to come looking. She wanted to save me and I couldn’t even save her.

There’s no strength to move, though my legs are tired and these heels hurt, I’ve been standing for a horrifyingly long time but the bed has no appeal and the couch on the opposite wall of my bedroom still has the indentations of the last time Allison slept there. My fingers almost fail, almost lose their strength and I almost drop the glass picture frame but it’s with a gust of remembrance that I clutch it tighter, looking down to see that curious smile and those bright eyes next to my own. I pull the frame up to my chest and look up to the ceiling. I don’t know who I’m looking for, who I’m looking to talk to, but I sob as I wonder if she’s up there. I never believed in it before, it seemed impossible, but could she still be with me? I feel her everywhere.

I remember the day the picture was taken like it was yesterday. Allison wanted to get frozen yogurt and we were both laughing so much because of how many toppings she’d accumulated. I saw the side of Allison that not many people saw. I saw the light and the sparkle, I saw the flame and the reason it burned. 

There’s no saving her now, no turning back time. What I did wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. I could feel her. I could feel my heart drop down deep when I heard Scott’s voice and it hasn’t moved, hasn’t lifted or relieved me. She was so young and so talented, so full of potential and love. All she wanted was to love people, to be loved. I see a few of her necklaces on my bedside table, the ones she’d let me borrow. I can hear her laughing about never getting them back, though I assured her she would. She was right after all.

I swallow and turn to set down the picture frame. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to deal with what’s happened. I want to help. I want to help everyone and it seems like I can’t help anyone. I sit down on my bed and run my fingers over the necklaces, there’s no sparkle or glisten to the jewels on their possessive golden chain, just remorse and sorrow. My finger grazes the metal of my key and it hits me like bricks, like wind against a sail. Flashing images haunt me in a sequence purely intended to wound. Stiles, the Nogitsune, turning the ignition, hot breath against a window, words formed by my own finger, words I thought could help, screaming, screaming, talking to someone, talking to someone who understands, screaming, I see Scott, I see Stiles, then I feel it. I scream and I can’t differentiate between the memory and reality until my throat runs sore and I’m gasping for air, falling against the pillows, sobbing and my mother is rushing in.

“Lydia,” she coos, sitting down next to me and rubbing my back. “Lydia, you’re okay. You’re okay.”

It’s the first time I’ve ever seen my mother cry. I see her tears stained against her cheek as if she’d just stopped and now they’re rising to the edges of her eyes and threatening to betray her facade of bravery and coolness. 

“Lydia?” She asks, hand against my arm. I don’t say anything. How could I? I just cry. And I don’t want to be this weak. I know Allison wouldn’t have wanted this, she would have wanted me to be healthy about it, to remember the good things. But that was the hardest part. 

My mother kisses my head and she’s faltering from herself. She’s being affectionate and she’s crying and it drives home the fact that this is _big_ , that this _happened_. It helps me even more to understand that I am wounded. I’m without her and I shouldn’t be thinking of myself at all in this moment but it’s all I can do. It’s all I can do to feel my guilt weighing down on me in a fierce intensity. I should have saved her, I should have done _something_. Now she’s gone and my mother knows it and she knows I’ll never be the same.

“Lydia,” she says again. “Lydia, please.” She’s begging me. I don’t know what I’ve done. My mother is being reduced to a weakness I’ve never seen. I’m sobbing like an idiot and my thoughts are racing. All I can wish is that Allison was in her usual spot on the couch, playing on her MacBook or adjusting her bow and we would have some music playing. I’d be reading or writing or something and she’d be chiming in with little funny jokes or stories and she’d make me feel good about myself.

She always did that. Even when I didn’t deserve it. When my walls were crashing down she’d help me build them back up. When I was in a state of emotion she’d remind me that it was temporary and she’d remind me of who I am, who I want to be, who I can be. She’d always be there for me and always save me from myself. She’d put me before herself in a way that no friend ever had. She showed me friendship and courage and love and helped me to be the best person I never knew I could be.

“Say something, please,” My mother urges softly. 

I sit up and wipe my tears away, inhaling and biting my lip. “I’m fine.”

“Oh, Lydia,” She says, as if she knows I’m lying. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine,” I say slowly. “I promise. I just—”

“Lydia?” The familiar voice is just too close, it’s not a spirit or an illusion, it’s real. It’s one of the only voices I can even bear to hear right now. I look up to see him standing there at the door, one foot awkwardly trailing behind the other and his eyes are shot, he’s pale as a ghost and he’s pleading for me to let him in.

“Stiles,” I choke. I don’t know if I can do it after all but in an effort of futility, to seem less weak, I stand up. 

My mother stands, rubbing my arm, “I’ll give you two some privacy.” She probably smiles or gives a sympathetic look to Stiles but all I focus on is Stiles as he gets closer and opens his arms for me to fall into.

It happens instantly, my arms wrap around his back and he’s holding me, my cheek finds its place against his chest and I’m crying. I feel Allison there in this moment, in all of the times I gossiped with her about Stiles and the kiss and his crush and every small tiny detail, I feel her looking on and I expect to be able to tell her about this later. The realization that I won’t only makes me sob harder, Stiles rubbing my back and telling me it’s okay, that it will be okay.

“I couldn’t save her Stiles,” it’s muffled but he understands.

“It’s not your fault, Lydia,” he answers and I don’t know if I believe him or not. I don’t know if it’s my fault or not. I don’t know if I could have done something differently.

I nod into him, “I tried so hard, I tried to warn you guys. I wanted you all to be safe, I just wanted us all to be back to how it was. Now it’s not ever going to be the same.”

“I’m so sorry, Lydia,” Stiles says. He’s freezing cold even through his jacket and I worry for him. I don’t want to lose someone else, too. I don’t want to feel any more emptiness. I picture Allison walking through the door and telling me to stop crying and she’d have a Dr. Pepper and some Sour Patch Kids to cheer me up, she knew my favorites. Or she’d climb through the window and I’d roll my eyes and tell her it’s not safe and she’d say she’s training so she has to work on agility and strength. But she’s not ever going to come through the door or the window ever again. My best friend is gone and she’ll never be coming back.


End file.
